


Spies, Lies and Gingernuts

by Salchat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angry John Sheppard, BAMF Original Character, Bullying, Cookies, Gen, Humor, Hurt Rodney McKay, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Rodney McKay Whump, Sick Character, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: The IOA have temporarily taken over Atlantis to carry out an audit, and certain elements are determined to cause trouble for the Chief Science Officer.  As an alien sickness sweeps through the city, an already exhausted and overworked Rodney is sent on a mission that goes badly wrong.Chapters to be posted daily.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Readers,  
> This was meant to be my attempt at a full house of Rodney McKay hurt/comfort bingo. But, having assembled twenty-four juicy prompts, I completely lost track of them once the story was rolling along, mostly due to the fact that whenever Rodney starts talking, you don't know where things are going to end up! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!  
> Salchat

_“Rodney McKay?”_

“Yes. Dr McKay has been involved in the Stargate project almost since the beginning, in one capacity or another. He was chosen to be Chief Science Officer for the Atlantis expedition and has fulfilled that role for several years now.”

Professor Suzanna Clarke skimmed rapidly over the incredible sheaf of documents once more. The clock on her mantlepiece ticked solemnly as she read, as steady and reliable as the October rain that pattered against the narrow, mullioned window. She tucked a stray strand of iron-grey hair neatly behind her ear. “One would think,” she said to the two black-suited men, “that the existence of aliens, the actual, indisputable fact of travel via stable wormhole and the state of both galactic and intergalactic war would be the things most hard to believe. Those, however, are easily trumped by my astonishment, not to say alarm, at Dr McKay’s involvement.”

“You doubt his competence?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure he has one of the best brains in the world, or should I say the galaxy; an astounding intellect, in fact. It’s not his capability in that regard that I would question.”

“Continue.”

“What staggers me, gentlemen, is that our diplomatic relations with actual alien species, in fact, no less that the representation of the entire human race, is dependent on the most arrogant, obnoxious, contemptible specimen that it has ever been my misfortune to meet! He spent a mercifully short time here amongst the dreaming spires, but in that time he contrived to upset, enrage or otherwise disgust virtually every single member of the college, and a good few innocent members of the public besides!”

“He’s difficult to work with, then?”

The professor narrowed her eyes, feeling that she had already made herself sufficiently plain. “Yes.”

“And it wouldn’t go against your professional conscience to work with us to see him removed from his position?”

“Not at all. I would imagine the world would be a much safer, if rather less pleasant place with Dr McKay kept entirely within its atmosphere.”

“Good. Then we’ll make the arrangements for you to have a sabbatical from your position here at Oxford and to form part of our audit group on Atlantis. It would be helpful if you could marshal your potential arguments against Dr McKay before you depart.”

“Oh, I won’t need to do that!" She took a sip from her mug of tea and grimaced; it had cooled during her enlightenment to the state of intergalactic affairs. "I would imagine his unfortunate colleagues will provide me with plenty of reasons for his dismissal. They’ll be only too glad to see the back of him, I’m sure!” She leant back and tapped the fingers of one hand against the briefing documents that she’d read under the watchful eyes of these two members of the ‘International Oversight Committee’. “I’m curious, though. Why in particular do _you_ want to see Dr McKay removed?”

The greying, more senior of the two answered. “We just want to make sure any alien technology is properly utilised. For the good of all mankind, of course.”

“And you don’t believe that’s happening?”

He paused and smiled. “We believe it’s time for a change.”

“You have your own candidate for the position?”

The smile became fixed, the eyes hardened. “That’s confidential.”

“Of course.”

oOo

“No.” Colonel John Sheppard’s tone was flatly unequivocal.

“Colonel -”

“No,” he interrupted. “In fact, I think ‘hell, no’ says it better.”

Richard Woolsey took off his glasses and began wiping the pristine lenses with his handkerchief. “Unfortunately this isn’t up for discussion. There’s nothing you, or indeed I, can do about it.”

“You’re just gonna let the IOA march in and take over, then?”

“No, of course not. General O’Neill assures me that going along with this so-called audit is the quickest way to get the IOA off our backs. And, in turn, the President has personally assured him that we just need to be seen to be open and co-operative and that the status will remain… quo.”

“I don’t like it.” The Colonel’s black brows lowered, his usual lolling pose contradicted by clenching fists.

“Well, neither do I, of course.” At the very least a temporary commander would alter the careful arrangement of items in his desk drawers, and at worst… the sky was in no way the limit for the worst trouble a bad decision could bring, even on an average working day on the city of Atlantis. “We have work to do here, re-establishing our presence in the Pegasus Galaxy; work that we can ill-afford time away from, least of all to attend endless meetings on Earth, raking over my command decisions, carrying out cost-benefit analyses on past missions, not to mention the inevitable tedious accounting for every last stray paperclip.”

The eyebrows contracted in mock astonishment. “Paperclips have strayed?”

“Well, no. Not on my watch at least.” Woolsey permitted himself a small smile.

His military commander reached across the table and prodded the other attendee. “What do you think, McKay?”

“What, sorry, was I supposed to be listening?”

Woolsey met his Chief Science Officer’s rather bloodshot eyes over the open screen of a laptop. “This will affect you too, Dr McKay.”

“How so? You’ll go to Earth and have fun with the suits and Sheppard’ll have to explain to a bunch of accountants that yes, he really did need that much C4. I’ll just be here, keeping the city afloat and making my usual astounding advancements in the field of intergalactic sciences.”

A slight wrinkle creased Woolsey’s brow. It was sufficiently unusual for Dr McKay not to assign at least a small proportion of his impressive intellect to paying attention during staff meetings, that an alarm bell pinged in the expedition leader’s mind. “It’s true that you don’t have to come to Earth for the audit. However, as I informed you,” he allowed a very slight pause to serve as a gentle reprimand, “a team is travelling to Atlantis not only to take over command while myself and Colonel Sheppard are absent, but to carry out the audit of the science department in situ.”

The roll of eyes was dramatic and prolonged. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, now I have to deal with a bunch of pencil-pushers asking stupid questions. Just great.”

Woolsey consulted his datapad. “Oh, I don’t know, there seem to be a few quite well-known names here. Perhaps they’ll be able to bring some fresh ideas to your work.”

“Who? Let me see.”

Woolsey passed the datapad into the outstretched hand.

“Moron, moron, unknown but probably moron.” Rodney perused the list of scientific auditors. “Most of these are from my rejects pile. Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Professor Clarke.”

“You know him?” asked Sheppard.

“Her,” said Rodney, thoughtfully.

“One of you old flames, Rodney?"

“Oh, please! She had her head so far up her tweed-covered ass that I doubt she even knew I existed. At least, not until we, er, crossed swords academically.”

“Professor Suzanna Clarke,” said Woolsey, having already memorised the list of IOA personnel. “Based at one of the Oxford colleges normally. Have you worked with her before?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say worked. I happened to be present when she read a paper once.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “What did you do?” 

“Why should I have done anything?”

“Rodney?”

“Well, hum." He studied his fingernails, his eyebrows describing innocent curves. "I may have pulled at a few loose threads in the eminent Professor's argument. And then, well, how was it my fault if the whole fabric started to unravel?” He sighed, reminiscently.

“Great,” said John. “That’s one hostile before they’ve even got started. Do we know any of the others?”

“I’m familiar with the man who will be the temporary commander, by repute at least; a diplomat by the name of Dr Santino Garcia.” Woolsey recalled something about an incident in Africa. How had it ended? “I believe him to be firm but fair.”

“He’d better be fair,” said John, forbiddingly.

Woolsey said nothing. His stomach churned at the thought of leaving the city and its inhabitants at the IOA’s mercy and he’d had nothing like the Colonel’s long years of experience, quite apart from his genetic link. It would be hard to hand over responsibility, no matter how temporarily. But he was sure he could prove to the IOA that the expedition was being run efficiently; they’d have to admit that, and then he and the Colonel could return to Atlantis and resume their lives and work.

If only Dr McKay could manage to be conciliating. Woolsey regretted allowing Ronon and Teyla leave to follow the trail of a group of Satedan survivors; in John Sheppard’s absence, they might at least have acted as a buffer between the stressed-out scientist and the audit group. Oh well, perhaps seeing how overworked the science team were would be a good thing; more personnel, that was the answer. The IOA team would see that and then something good would come out of the situation.

oOo

“Are you gonna be able to handle this, McKay?” John hitched up a leg to perch on the end of Rodney’s workbench.

“What?” The scientist’s intent gaze jerked away from his screen of rapidly-scrolling data. “Why shouldn’t I be able to handle it? I’ve dealt with pen-pushing jobsworths before.”

John grimaced to himself. “Uh, it’s just that, you seem pretty stressed.”

“Stressed? What do I have to be stressed about?” Rodney snatched up his coffee cup and slurped the slurp of a caffeine-addicted scientist. “It’s perfectly normal to have half my department down with some kind of alien flu, the Gate techs staging a festival of donut crumbs all over the ten thousand year old control panels, the jumper bay systems isolated behind a firewall to stop the whole city being over-run by that virus those idiots brought back from P2Z-958 and an algal bloom blocking the desalination plant, which, now that you ask, oh wait, you didn't ask, should in no way be my responsibility as I’m not, repeat not, a plumber!”

“Okay, then,” John drawled, with what he hoped was a pacifying smile, such as he might give upon first contact with a horde of suspicious Pegasus natives, bristling with deadly weapons. “You’ll handle it just fine.”

“Of course I will.” Rodney stabbed angrily at his keyboard, his face appearing pale in the screen’s glow; although some of that pallor was his friend’s own, John thought, and certainly the bags under his eyes had been bought and paid for by a good few nights without much sleep.

John considered dragging Rodney away from his work and forcing him to take some much-needed rest, but with Zelenka out sick, who else could deal with the latest crop of crises? ‘Perfectly normal,’ Rodney had said. And the problem was, he was right. Somehow it always seemed that there were too many problems that only Rodney could fix. He bragged about his indispensability, and of course John would jeer and smirk, because that was how their friendship worked, but how would they have got the Ancient city up and running if not for him? How else would they have kept it maintained for the past five years or so, if Rodney hadn’t been able to not only understand and interpret the systems of an ancient, sophisticated race of aliens but interface them with human technology?

The scientist’s fingers danced over the keys, his eyes flicking between monitors full of both Ancient and Earth-based code, his tense, white-edged lips murmuring snatches of leaping thought. He squinted, rubbed his eyes and continued. John peered into the stained brown depths of Rodney’s mug: empty. He picked it up and washed it out, poured another cup from the coffee machine that was as overworked as his friend and placed it carefully within Rodney’s reach.

oOo

“What do I have to do? Fill in a requisition form for some common sense? Get out of the way!”

A barrage of furious imprecations flowed from the mezzanine level in the lofty hall. Professor Clarke, standing before the rippling wonder of the event horizon, met a colleague’s raised eyebrow and nodded slightly. Yes, that was their target and, by the sounds of it, their aim wouldn’t have to be particularly accurate to knock him off his perch and back to Earth.

“Dr Garcia, welcome to Atlantis.”

The current leader of the expedition stepped forward and shook the hand of his temporary replacement, who introduced the audit team.

“Mr Woolsey.” Suzanna greeted the bespectacled man, who looked as if he should be in charge of an accounting department rather than the Ancient city of Atlantis. “I was hoping to meet Dr McKay.” 

Woolsey smiled beneath a very slight frown. “Unfortunately Dr McKay is occupied at the moment.” The stream of invective from above ebbed and flowed. “The city systems are very complex and require constant maintenance.”

The voice exploded once more into wrath. “No, I can’t just run a diagnostic, and yes, your minor alterations would have caused the Gate to overload and blow us all to kingdom come! Total incompetence!”

Woolsey’s smile widened. “I’m sure you’d like to get settled in your quarters. Please, come this way.” He ushered them hurriedly out of the Gateroom.

 _Better and better._ It was unlikely that the expedition leader would put up much of a fight in McKay’s defence, having been embarrassed in such a way.

oOo

The trembling Gate tech stood back as Rodney’s hands danced over the broad crystalline keys.

“There,” he spat. “Back within the bounds of non-lethality, which, you know, I always think is the best way to be.” He spun on his heel, ready to dash back to the situation in the desalination plant, which was, apparently, about to go critical. His eye caught the white face of the junior technician. “Look, er… Mary.”

“Mandy.” She sniffed.

Oh, God, she was going to cry, wasn’t she? How many was that this week? What was wrong with these people that they couldn’t take a little criticism for blithely trampling over the sensibilities of the ten thousand year old equipment? “Mandy,” he conceded. “Just, if you have any bright ideas in future, why don’t you ask first, yes?”

She nodded and squeaked an affirmative.

 _People skills, people skills._ Rodney searched his mind. “Er, it wasn’t the most disastrous idea I’ve ever come across.” Was that too much like praise? “Really stupid, but not totally moronic.” Good enough. Teyla would be proud. He gave a sharp nod of satisfaction and aimed his determined chin at the transporter, already focussed on desalination systems.

oOo

It had been twenty or so years since they had last crossed paths, but that scathing, contempt-ridden voice had brought back sour memories. McKay had spent some time at Oxford between PhDs, where Suzanna had already established herself, a respected scholar in her late thirties. The arrogant young man (overgrown child, really), had publicly humiliated her; his sneering lips had curled around crushing words as he had brought the lecture hall to stunned silence, his fingers had snapped with derision and his eyes had flashed with pride. Even then, if it had just been her, she might have forgotten, even forgiven, but the boy-wonder had ridden roughshod over everyone who crossed his path, his confidence in his own genius burning magnesium-bright, his arrogance and insensitivity burning brighter.

Suzanna couldn’t imagine why he’d been chosen for the greatest scientific undertaking ever; to actually explore an unknown galaxy in the city of a highly advanced alien race. Although, apparently the first contingent of the expedition had been thought unlikely ever to return to Earth; perhaps being rid of the man had been incentive enough to appoint him. 

There was still no sign of Dr McKay after they had settled in their quarters, and, Mr Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard having departed for Earth, Suzanna decided to begin her audit by tracking him down. Some junior scientists had been assigned to deliver a tour of the facilities, but she broke away from her three colleagues, determined to beard the lion in his den. She found him hidden away in a dimly-lit lab and stopped on the threshold to study her opponent. 

He had gained weight and lost hair since she had seen him last; perhaps his bouncing arrogance had diminished, Samson-like, as his hairline receded. The broad shoulders were rounded and he hunched over several glowing screens like a miser hoarding his wealth. She found it hard to believe that he ventured off-world, making up part of the military commander’s own team, but maybe Dr McKay’s genius outweighed his repellent personality.

Suzanna entered the cave-like dimness.

“Dr McKay.”

“What now? I’m busy.”

“Dr McKay!”

He shot her a flicking sidelong glance as if his attention was paid for by the split-second. “Oh, it’s you.”

Not to be deterred by this unencouraging greeting, she approached his workbench and peered at the screens of flickering data. One was filled with familiar, if extremely complex coding, another with tiny, mystifying symbols, a third was an apparently random jumble of both.

“You can read this?” She pointed to the unidentifiable symbols.

“Yes, of course,” he replied absently.

“What does it mean?”

Rodney sat back in his chair and waved at the screen, his mouth moving silently.

“Not a simple answer?”

“No. Not simple. So not simple, it’d take all day to tell you. Look, do you think maybe you could go and audit somewhere else? Interrupting vital work, here!”

She pointed to one of the symbols. “What does that mean? Just that one?”

“Nothing, on its own, not in this context.” He swiped a finger across the screen. “This whole thing is all the Ancients’ way of denoting the pure element, oxygen.”

“All of that?”

“Yes, because why use a simple O2 when you can express the spectroscopic wave form? Now, can I get on?”

“Please, Dr McKay, I have to build up a full picture of your department. What are you currently working on?”

A sudden bark made her jump. “Kusanagi! Here! Now!”

A figure appeared at her side and seemed to be able to interpret the series of flicking gestures and further barks Rodney made in her direction. Suzanna found herself being led away into a different section of the lab.

“I am Dr Kusanagi. I will be pleased to show you our work.”

“I was hoping Dr McKay would tell me what he’s so busy with.”

“He is working on the air-conditioning system.”

Suzanna snorted. “The air-conditioning? Seriously?”

Dark eyes grew big and round behind matching lenses. “Dr McKay is a great man. I am proud to work for one so great, so honourable.”

He had this little mouse well-trained. “Is he always so… brusque?”

There was a small pause; a doubt that could be exploited? “He is a great man,” the softly-spoken doctor repeated.

oOo

The English professor had left, muttering scornfully about air-conditioning under her breath. She clearly did not understand the importance of Dr McKay’s work and had seemed more interested in his relationship with his staff. On a floating city that was also a starship, air-conditioning was crucial, functioning as a sub-system of life support, wherein air was recycled and replenished. How else would they survive in the vacuum of deep space?

Miko returned to her work. It was past time for the evening meal, but Dr McKay needed her and so she continued working steadily, aware that the key-tapping and muttered exclamations behind her were growing sporadic and by the time she had completed her current task and eased out her stiff back, the lab was silent. Dr McKay was asleep, his head resting on one crooked arm, the fingers of the other hand twitching slightly against the keys, producing a random string of characters on the glowing screen. Miko pushed the keyboard slowly out from under her leader’s fingers. She would not wake him, knowing that if she did, he wouldn’t retire for the night but would simply resume his work.

Instead she crouched to open a small cupboard beneath her workbench and from the shelf below her neatly-stored packaged snacks, coffee pouches and first aid supplies she took out a soft fleece blanket. She shook it out and draped it gently over the sleeping man, then trod softly away.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean, hiding?" Dr Garcia demanded. "You're supposed to be auditing his department. He can't just hide!"

"Well, he does. And as far as the department is concerned, both in terms of city maintenance and research into new technology... well, I can't find any faults, can you?" Suzanna looked round at her colleagues who variously shook their heads or made doubtful little moues and grimaces, as if finding faults would have given them considerable pleasure.

Professor Beresford, on sabbatical from Stanford, peered at her myopically. "The city appears to be adequately run," he said grudgingly. "I can see no evidence of mismanagement so far."

"Hm, yes, that's all very well but it's your job, all of you, to see that faults are found." Garcia leant forward slightly and his hooded eyes roamed slowly over the audit team. "The IOA believes that scientific endeavour would be better advanced under different leadership."

"Why?" Suzanna met the cold gaze without shrinking.

"That is not your concern," he replied dismissively. "In order to expedite matters, one of you will accompany Dr McKay on an off-world mission. That way he will be constantly under your eye and you will find evidence of his weaknesses of personality. I will consult the mission schedules and rearrange them if necessary." He rose and, dismissing the meeting with a brusque flick of one hand, left the room.

Papers were gathered, chairs pushed back.

Suzanna hesitated. “Why did you come?” She pinned Professor Beresford with the gaze she used on inferior undergraduates. “Not that the opportunity to study actual alien technology shouldn’t be enough incentive, but I’m curious; how was the role presented to you?”

The Professor continued to stuff his leather folder with papers covered with tight lines of spidery script, using rather more force than was necessary. “I needed no incentive,” he said shortly. “Dr McKay is a former student of mine.”

“You must be proud of what he’s achieved?” Suzanna allowed her voice to rise, inviting further information.

He snorted derisively. “You misunderstand me. McKay, according to his own words, learnt nothing under my tutelage. He was a constant thorn in my side and I will be delighted to make up for any shortcomings in his education by teaching him what it’s like to have his authority undermined in his own department.”

The red-faced professor tucked his folder under his arm and stalked out.

“And you? Dr Defranca? Dr Linnet? Do you know why the IOA chose you?”

“I would assume because I am a world expert in my field.” Dr Linnet opened his mouth and shut it again, visibly debating extending the phrase ‘world expert’ to cover the best part of two galaxies.

De Franca, the Caltech-based academic, shook her head, her blonde bob obscuring her face. “Presumably because I have the requisite qualifications,” she said shortly.

Another grievance there, then, Suzanna thought.

“Before you ask,” said Dr Williams, “I was promised that a fat research grant would be coming my way, and I don’t mind admitting I’m not averse to seeing Dr McKay lose face.”

Suzanna remained in her seat as the rest of the audit team trailed out of the meeting room. Unless Rodney McKay had upset the entire academic world, which wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility, it seemed as if the IOA had purposely chosen hostile witnesses to carry out their task.

A shadow of unease darkened her thoughts. The stakes were high and she resolved to set aside her own prejudices and give the elusive Chief Science Officer a fair and balanced opportunity to prove himself. Which would mean making sure it was she who accompanied the scientist off-world.

oOo

“Capture the science guys. It’s a craze that’s going round.”

Suzanna shifted on the damp floor of the cell, the rough stone wall digging into her back. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d agreed to accompany the off-world team as an observer. She shivered and made herself focus on her job to bring her fear under control. “This has happened to you before?”

“What, being captured and thrown in a cell? Of course.” Dr McKay patted down the pockets of his jacket and pants, a search which yielded no results. 

“How many times?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot. Oh, God, you’re unbelievable. You’re still asking stupid questions for your stupid audit aren’t you? D'you have any snacks?”

"Snacks?"

"Energy bars, candy, anything that might remotely be considered edible." He held out his hand and snapped his fingers.

Suzanna reached into her pants pocket. "Sugar free mints?

"Sugar free? What the hell use is sugar free?"

"Dr McKay! You realise that the proprietors of this jail are unlikely to have even heard of Geneva, let alone its Convention and yet you choose to complain that my mints are sugar free?"

"I need sugar! I'm hypoglycemic!"

Suzanna huffed and reluctantly withdrew a foil-wrapped cube from her other pocket. "I have a couple of squares of Kendal mint cake. For emergencies."

"Kendal what now?"

"Mint cake. It's the original energy bar. Hillary and Tenzing took it with them when they conquered Everest."

"What's in it? I'm mortally allergic to citrus, you know!"

"This conversation is becoming increasingly surreal."

"Ingredients!"

"Sugar and peppermint."

"And yet you carry sugar-free mints. I was right to attack your logic! Justified and vindicated. Hand it over."

"Why don't you have your own snacks?"

"They were in my vest. Which was taken by the thugs. Give!"

The foil-wrapped cube was whipped out of her hand, hastily unwrapped and its contents devoured in short order.

"Not bad. Minty. Crunchy yet soft. Got any more?" Booted feet clattered in the corridor beyond the iron-studded door. McKay’s face was suddenly intent. “Look, just follow my lead, right? Can you do that?”

The door crashed back on its hinges and a uniformed figure entered, several others lurking in the corridor behind. The light was blocked out, so that she couldn’t see his face, but a sour tang of sweat and damp clothing filled the cell. “Atlanteans,” he named them, harshly. "You are my prisoners. You will obey me, or die!"

Suzanna began to climb to her feet; she wouldn’t let this bully get the better of her. “You don’t scare -”

A plaintive whimper came from her fellow captive. “Please, don’t hurt us!” McKay cowered against the wall of the cell. “Please!”

She looked away, unwilling to watch such a shameful exhibition of cowardice.

The looming man laughed, and jerked his head at the guards. “This one first,” he said, and the other men entered and grasped the whimpering scientist's arms and dragged him out. 

The door slammed and Suzanna was left in near-darkness. What would they do to him? Maybe nothing. They wouldn’t have to. He’d crumble and tell them whatever they wanted to know straight away. How on Earth (or off it) had such a man held his position for so long? 

She stood up stiffly, rubbing her aching head, an after-effect of some kind of stun-grenade that had hit them almost as soon as they stepped through the Gate. What had happened to Sergeant Baker and his Marines? Were they captives too? Would Atlantis mount a rescue attempt? Were they even on the same planet where they’d been ambushed? Her mind reeled and she sat down again, wincing as bruises met the hard floor. She debated taking off her jacket to sit on but rejected the idea; the cell was cold.

The remaining fog dissipated from Suzanna’s mind and, having reviewed the events since she had left her comfortable study in Oxford, she rebuked herself, on several counts. Firstly, she’d accepted this assignment based on her eagerness to enact revenge on an old opponent; secondly, she hadn’t done her research on the shadowy IOA, a mistake for which any of her students would suffer the full force of her wrath; thirdly, she hadn’t given McKay a fair chance. Was it right that he should be punished for the mistakes of his much younger self? Yes, it appeared his tongue was still as sharp as ever, but in twenty years surely he had matured? And fourthly, the cowering and the whimpering? After years on a Gate team? It simply didn’t add up. ‘Follow my lead’, he’d said. _Follow my lead._

Suzanna’s thoughts rambled, her headache reasserted itself and she longed for some water. Her head nodded and when the bolts once more rattled on the other side of the door she realised she’d been dozing. The cell lit with the orange flare of a lamp, a black shape was thrust in and landed heavily on the floor and then the light fled as the door slammed shut. There was no longer even dim greyness filtering through the high, barred window. Night had fallen.

“Dr McKay?” A groan answered her. She reached toward the groan and encountered damp hair. He flinched away from her touch. “Are you alright?”

Shuffling, more groaning and wincing came from the darkness, then there was faint warmth beside her and a long sigh. “Oh, well, you know…” Weariness dragged at his voice.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been imprisoned on an alien planet before.”

“Lucky you.”

There was silence, apart from his ragged breathing. “What did they do? Did they hurt you?”

“Meh. I’m fine.” More rustling. “I don’t know why I said that. Too much time spent with a certain Colonel.”

“What do they want?”

“Oh, they’ve got a heap of Ancient junk they want us to work on. Look, I’m tired, we’ve got a chance to sleep, let’s take it.”

It was sensible advice. She shuffled down the wall and curled herself into a ball, her head on one bent arm. “Will someone come for us? A rescue?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

oOo

It was cold during the long night; a cold which penetrated right down to her aging bones, and whichever way she turned a draught wormed its way into her tightly curled limbs. Even twenty years ago she would have suffered, sleeping on a hard stone floor; at nearly sixty Suzanna knew she'd be stiff for days. She shivered, and once her teeth started chattering she couldn’t seem to stop them.

Her mind fled from her situation, unimaginably far away, across the terrifying emptiness of space, to her rooms at Oxford that lay empty, awaiting her return. The rain would still be falling on the uneven mullioned windows, the old Victorian radiator would groan and clank, but she was here; here in the dark and the cold, fear stifling her hopes of ever seeing her comfortable rooms again.

“C’mere.”

There was a large presence at her back and something heavy flopped around her waist. The chattering eased and her shivers subsided. She slept.

oOo

They were given food, of a sort, and water and then hustled down a corridor to a large room, its workbenches strewn with a junkyard mix of items; monitors, artifacts, things she couldn’t begin to identify.

“Work! Fix these items or you will be punished!” The door was slammed shut and bolts rattled into place.

Suzanna felt like the girl in the fairytale. ‘Spin the straw into gold by morning or I will cut off your head!’ She turned to Rumplestiltskin, who had begun to sort through the items. His face had been shadowed in the gloom of their cell, but here the light was much brighter and she could see that his lip was split and he had bruises on his jaw and one cheek. He was moving suspiciously carefully.

“Dr McKay?”

He picked up a small box, shook it and set it down again. “Look, if we’re going to be lab partners I think you could call me Rodney.” 

“Suzanna,” she reciprocated. He coughed and held his ribs, wincing.  
“Are you alright? Rodney?”

“Yes. Well, no, but there’s not a lot we can do about that, is there? 

“They really hurt you, didn’t they? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“Never mind that now. Let’s just pick out something harmless to fix and hope it keeps them off our backs.”

Doubtfully, she picked up a box attached to a tube.

“Put it down. That definitely doesn’t come under the heading of harmless.”

“What is it?”

“Just put it down!” His voice was strained and he looked like he wanted to rip the thing out of her hands, but instead leant against the workbench, sweat springing out on his forehead.

She set the object back on the bench. “What did they do to you?”

“Never mind that. Look, this is a device for calibrating thermostats. I don’t think they’re going to do much harm servicing the heating systems of the galaxy, so let’s fix it and they can set up the Pegasus branch of Lennox."

She took the little, pocket calculator-sized object, and regarded its blank screen. “Does it come apart? Are there any tools we can use?”

Rodney’s eyes darted around the room and then settled. She watched him take a couple of limping steps and then he stopped and leant against the bench, raising a shaking hand to his brow.

“Rodney, sit!” She pushed a stool beneath him and he collapsed onto it and sagged unhappily. “Tell me what they did! Where does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “There’s a diagnostic tool, over there, you can use -”

“No. That can wait. Is it your ribs? Let me see.”

“It can’t wait! They’ll come back and if we haven’t done anything, they might start on you!”

“Very well. Where is it?”

“That, the one with trailing leads. Pass it to me.”

She retrieved the chunky datapad, wires snaking from its back. Rodney snatched it and tapped at the screen, his face intent. It flickered and then glowed and he connected it up to the little calculator. Symbols sprang to life. “See, there’s your problem. It just needs a little tweak to be good as new.” His mouth curved up at one corner. “Voila! A working thermostat checker thing.”

“Very nice. And now I’m going to run a diagnostic on you.”

“No, really, just leave it. There’s nothing you can do. Pass me that thing that looks like a toaster.” The pointing finger trembled.

“Stop trying to distract me and take off your jacket.”

“No. It’s freezing in here.”

“Dr McKay, do as you’re told!”

“Oh, you’ve just been itching to say that, haven’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? So that you can undermine me with your seniority. So that you can get me back for sniffing out your false logic and poorly reasoned arguments.”

Suzanna growled between clenched teeth and a gleam of triumph appeared in Rodney's shadowed eyes. She took a deep breath. “You don’t make it easy, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s never been easy for me, watching everyone around me congratulating themselves on their stunning feats of intellect and knowing they were all wrong! Being expected to stroke their egos just to get a foothold in academia!”

“You never did any ego-stroking, McKay! You always just said exactly what you thought!”

“Well, isn’t that a good thing? People shouldn’t suffer under illusions. Bad science is bad science and they need to know!”

“There are ways of telling people!”

“I know that now!”

“It doesn’t seem that way to me!”

McKay had stood up and they mirrored each other, fists clenched by their sides, furious eyes glaring, nearly nose-to-nose. The door crashed open behind Suzanna and the red-faced belligerence quickly morphed into flinching dread. Rodney cowered away from her, tripping over the stool and landing on the floor.

“What’s going on in here? Why aren’t you working?”

“W-we’re working! We are!" Rodney stammered. "We’re just discussing, er, options…”

Their captor strode swiftly over to Rodney, gripped a fistful of his jacket and hauled him up so that his feet dangled off the floor. “You snivelling little rat. Your lady-friend’s got more guts than you!”

“Please, don’t hurt me again! Or her!”

“I’m not going to hurt her. You’re much more fun!” His free hand buried itself in Rodney’s stomach with a thud and then he released his grip on Rodney’s jacket and let him slide to the floor. “Get back to work and no more slacking, or you’ll find out if you can still work with a few less fingers!”

The door slammed once more. Suzanna dropped to the floor beside the huddled form. Rodney's face was white and his breaths came in pained jerks.

“Can you sit up?”

His chin trembled a nod and she supported him into a sitting position. His arms were folded tightly over his stomach.

“Let me see,” she said.

He didn’t resist this time as she slipped his jacket off over his hunched shoulders and lifted up the front of his shirt.

“Oh. Oh, my dear. You poor -"

"Don't. Just- just don't. I can't do sympathy right now. It's- it's too much."

Her eyes ran along the deep parallel cuts that had been carved with deliberate, cruel intent along the lines of his ribs. "How -"

"With a great big sharp knife, how d'you think?"

The trembling hurt in his voice was as much for the helpless indignity as the pain, she thought. 

"I'd better clean them. They'll get infected."

“There’s nothing to clean them with.”

“I’ll improvise.”

There was a deep basin with a faucet in the corner of the room. Suzanna hurriedly removed the thermal camisole she always wore under her clothes and put her shirt and jacket back on. She tore up the undergarment, hoping that this range hadn’t now been discontinued because they really were her favourite and wasn’t it just always the way that when you found something you really liked, they’d stop making them? She then wet one of the pieces of fabric and squeezed it out and, having made Rodney perch on the stool, cleaned the nasty cuts as best she could.

oOo

It hurt and he wasn’t going to try to pretend that it didn’t any more. He hadn’t had enough to eat either, which didn’t help, and his head throbbed in time with the wounds on his ribs. The cloth was burningly cold on his skin. He shivered.

"Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” Did this woman never stop asking questions?

“Act like that, when this is clearly a man who targets those weaker than himself?" She began wrapping strips of fabric (where had she got that from?) around his waist and tying the ends together.

"Huh, yeah, that's a trick I've learned from Sheppard, except he uses sneery insults. I thought I'd go with cowardice as the act I could pull off with more plausibility."

"So he hurts you, instead of me."

"That's the general idea."

She paused, tucking in an end of the bandage. "That's rather noble."

"What did you expect? 'Take her! She's the one you want!'"

"I didn't know what to expect." 

She pulled down his bloodstained t-shirt and helped him put the jacket back on. He didn’t feel any warmer.

“I didn't really get to know you properly when you were a young firebrand, burning up everyone in your path, and the IOA haven't encouraged me to look past my own resentment and your somewhat abrasive manner. You know they want to replace you, I suppose?"

"Huh. Let them try.”

“Are you so sure of yourself?”

“I’m sure of my staff. And my friends: Sheppard, Zelenka, Ronon, Teyla, even Woolsey.” He eased himself off the stool, jagged bolts of pain shooting through his sides. Suddenly light-headed, he swayed and felt a steadying hand under his arm. He closed his eyes and opened them again and waited for the objects around him to lose their hazy appearance. “You see, despite my ‘abrasive manner’, I’ve saved all their asses more times than they can count. And besides that,” he turned back to the bench and pulled the diagnostic leads out of the thermostat gadget, “you may find it hard to believe, but they like me.”

“I’m beginning to believe it.”

Rodney picked up the thing that looked like a toaster.

“What is that?”

“Looks like a toaster. Probably is a toaster.”

"Oh.” She took the toaster and, searching it for ports, began connecting it to the leads. “You were right, you know."

"Of course I was right. What about?"

"My paper. It was total… I suppose one might apply the term 'balderdash' without complete inaccuracy."

"Hm. Yes. Well, as you've made such a generous concession, I'll admit that my method of pointing that out might have been somewhat undiplomatic."

She snorted with laughter. “I was so - Wait! What’s that?”

A faint rattle sounded, echoing down the stone corridors.

Rodney leant more heavily against the bench, his heart thumping with relief “Ah, the dulcet tones of the P90. That, Professor Clarke, is our rescue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos. They are very much valued and appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re asking me to lie.”

Garcia leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “No, I’m asking you for an interpretation of events that will incline toward the correct conclusion.”

The brightly-lit office was hazy with unreality. Maybe it was the Gate-lag, maybe it was the fear and the tension and the night spent on a cold stone floor, or a combination of all of those things; a combination that a hot shower and a decent meal hadn’t been able to entirely counteract. Tension gnawed at the spot between Suzanna’s brows, but she ignored it and forced herself to sit up straighter. Here was another bully to be dealt with and she would not make herself a target by appearing weak. “Dr McKay’s behaviour was exemplary. I refuse to falsify my report.”

“Exemplary.” He sneered, huffed a disparaging breath and looked down his nose at her. “If the man was tortured, as you say, he is sure to have given away vital information, no matter what he may have told you.”

“What do you mean, _if?_ He deliberately made himself a target in order to deflect attention away from me. Haven’t you received a medical report yet?”

His eyes fell to a datapad on the table in front of him. “Exaggerated, I would imagine. The staff here seem remarkably protective.”

“Rightly so. They’re a team and Dr McKay is one of the key players. But his injuries _were_ significant.”

Garcia’s eyebrows rose. “It would seem that you have been converted to McKay’s cause. Perhaps it is time for you to return to Earth.”

“I don’t want -”

“Then again, perhaps your position on Earth may not have been held open. These things are often precarious, don’t you find?”

She did not react immediately. Her bruised muscles ached with stiffness, but she held her back straight and let her gaze linger on the contemptuous face of the temporary expedition leader. “I’m not going to ask what you mean by that. I realise that your organisation may well carry sufficient clout to have me drummed out of my college.” She rose to her feet, still holding his gaze, denying the weariness of her body. Her fingers itched to snap in his face. She could do it, too; and if it meant retirement, would that be so bad? And it would be a fine exit to her career, to thrust her conscience like a spear into this man’s smug countenance.

Instead, she took a leaf out of Rodney’s book, allowing her gaze to falter. “My report might be… equivocal.”

His hum of satisfaction made her stomach churn. “I will look forward to receiving it.”

oOo

"Where's - Ow, dammit! Where's Jennifer?"

"Dr Keller's sick, sir." The nurse smoothed out the dressing over Rodney’s ribs.

"What, she's got it too? Is there anyone left who hasn't?"

"Dr Benson's running the infirmary with myself and Nurse Jacobs. I think Dr Beckett’s going to be recalled.”

“I hope so. Ow. Careful! There’s an ear-drum in there. Or there was.” 

The nurse removed the thermometer which was bleeping plaintively. “You’re temperature’s up.”

“Is it really?” he said sarcastically. His skin felt extra-sensitive, his mind fuzzy and vague and he realised he wanted his team; Sheppard and Ronon and especially Teyla with her open, accepting gaze. There was a lump in his throat and he clamped his lips tightly together.

The nurse pulled a wheeled trolley closer. “I’ll take some blood to test. But it’s probably the Satedan flu. And if it is,” she said, searching for a vein, “we’ll move you to one of the isolation wards with the others.”

“What? Isolation? Is it that serious? Nobody’s died, have they?”

“No. But there’s quite a few who need nursing care and we’re trying to limit the spread. Here we go.”

“Ow.” He watched the vial fill and shivered.

“I’ll get you some tylenol.”

“Tylenol? Can’t I have something stronger?”

“Tylenol’s for the fever. You’re not due any more painkillers yet.”

“Oh.” Rodney tucked his arm back under the blanket, wishing they made the infirmary scrubs with long sleeves.

“I’ll get you another blanket too.”

“Tha- er thank you.” He tried to modify his weak tone into manly strength, but didn’t think the nurse was fooled.

“Try to sleep, sir.”

oOo

Suzanna had turned to leave Garcia’s office and found the smirking Dr Linnet on the threshold, a data-stick in his hand. What incriminating evidence had he dredged up or otherwise falsified? He ushered her out with a wave of a hand and a mock bow.

“Professor Clarke.”

She summoned up a pleasant smile; she hadn’t fought her way through the ranks of male academicians without learning to be conciliatory, though her digestion had often suffered for it. “Dr Linnet.”

Her steps rang on the flying walkway and when she reached the Control deck, the dimly-lit low-ceilinged space seemed a safe haven. The Gate was quiet down below, but black-clad figures were assembling ready for an off-world mission. How long had she been off-world? Two Earth days? Less? Here, the working day was in full swing and, although she was tired, Suzanna didn’t feel like sleeping. Work, then, was the key and a means of sabotaging the IOA’s attempts to remove Dr McKay from his post.

She turned to regard the control panels, the technicians with eyes dutifully cast down over their work, probably for her benefit. Small glances shot between them whenever her gaze appeared to be directed elsewhere.

“Chuck, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Can I help you?”

“Thank you, yes. I’d like to learn about your work, if you’re not too busy.”

The technician began to explain how the dialling procedure worked, the shield, the IDCs and all those things directly related to the smooth-running of the Gate.

“It must use an immense amount of power.”

“Yes, Ma’am. We had to be really careful before we had a fully-charged ZPM, even to use the Gate to dial Pegasus addresses. But Dr McKay minimized the power consumption.” He hesitated. “We would have been dead in the water without him.” This was accompanied by a hard-eyed glare, which Chuck quickly hid.

Interesting. It seemed that the staff were fully aware of the IOA’s planned assault.

“Who’s dealing with the databurst to Earth?” Dr Linnet’s tall, thin, grey-suited form suddenly loomed behind her, his datastick twitching between thumb and forefinger.

“I am, sir.” A young woman sitting at the next console answered; Amelia?

“See that this is added.”

Amelia took the datastick and Dr Linnet marched importantly away. 

There was an uncomfortable silence. Amelia plugged the datastick into her laptop and tapped away at her keys. The Ancient console flickered and hummed in response.

“Do you have anything to add to the databurst, Ma’am?”

“No, thank you. Amelia, isn’t it?”

She looked up and smiled slightly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Perhaps, when you’ve finished uploading - Is anything wrong?”

Amelia frowned at her screen and bit her lip. “Er, no. No, everything’s fine.” The smile was forced this time and Amelia’s hands remained poised above her keyboard, her fingers retreating into fists.

Suzanna bent toward her slightly and lowered her voice. “I’m not the enemy here. I’ll help, if I can.”

“I think… Chuck. Come and look at this.”

Suzanna stepped back so that the Gate technician could roll his chair along. Amelia pointed to a tiny icon, just above the upload bar which had stopped half way along its rectangular space.

“Oh, that’s -”

“It is,” Amelia agreed.

Suzanna bent down and squinted at the screen, realising only now that she’d lost her reading glasses in an alien jail. Specsavers would never believe her. A tiny red figure winked against the blackness. “Is that a Space Invader?”

oOo

He’d tried to sleep and it wasn’t working. Why had nobody ever thought to add call-buttons to the infirmary beds, like they had on Earth? His water pitcher was empty again and surely it was time for another dose of whatever ineffective drug was supposed to be dampening his really quite outrageous level of pain? And no doubt the city was going to hell in a handcart in his absence. Was Zelenka still sick? Who was doing all the vital work that needed to be done to keep this place running? The swift click of heels made Rodney raise his aching head, but it wasn’t a nurse, it was Sarah. Sophie. Samantha. No, definitely not Samantha. Suzanna.

“Rodney.”

Her incisive gaze alerted his sensitive ‘impending doom’ circuits. “What? What’s happened? What have they done?” He sat up and threw back the blankets, pressing one forearm against the jagged burning over his ribs. “Ow.”

A firm hand on his shoulder pressed him back down onto the pillows.

“You look awful. Just lie still while I get someone.” She drew the blankets back up around his shivering form.

“No.” Rodney caught hold of her wrist. “No, something’s wrong. Tell me, now!”

Suzanna sighed and pulled up a chair with a scrape. “Amelia tried to upload Dr Linnet’s datastick to send to Earth.”

“The weekly databurst, yes. And?”

“Your Space Invader appeared.”

“Oh!” Rodney’s heart began to beat even faster. He threw back the blankets again as sweat broke out on his forehead. “That means someone’s trying to pass on tagged files. Anything sensitive, dangerous, schematics for tech we’ve not okay’d gets tagged and can’t be uploaded for transmission to Earth unless Zelenka or I add our security code.”

“Yes, Chuck explained.”

“And it was Dr Linnet?”

“Yes, but he’d just been in Garcia’s office.”

“Woolsey’s office.” Rodney’s fevered mind whirled. “What was on the stick? What did they try to steal?”

“There were some innocuous reports directed for the attention of IOA personnel, but the tagged ones were listed under personal messages to be forwarded to friends and family.”

“Yes, yes, big business contacts, no doubt, out to make a quick buck out of potential catastrophe. What was in the files?”

“Well, unfortunately, they corrupted as soon as Amelia tried to open them.”

“Chuh. You should’ve brought them straight to me. Bang goes our proof.” Freezing air scoured across his skin and he pulled the blankets back up. “Has the databurst gone?”

“Yes, but -”

“Why didn’t you come and get me, I could’ve -”

“Sent a message to Mr Woolsey?”

“I was thinking Sheppard. High time he was back here, sticking his C4 where it might do some good. Wait, did you send a message?”

She nodded. “A veiled one.”

“What use is veiled? Tell them to get their asses back here, now!”

“Mr Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard are in the middle of a series of meetings with the IOA. If there are elements we don’t want alerted, I thought subtlety might be the best way.”

“Hmph. Maybe.” Rodney gritted his teeth and swung his legs out of the bed, groaning as his head protested against vertical positioning.

“You’re not getting up.”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Linnet or whoever’s been stealing, will have left a trail a mile wide. I’m going to get some proof before he thinks to go in and cover his tracks.” He pulled the blankets completely free of the mattress and draped them over his shoulders like a cape.

“You can’t leave. You’re sick. And hurt.”

He set his feet on the cold floor. His legs felt rubbery. He told them they’d be fine and began to stand. “Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta - oh.” Rodney’s head spun. He felt an arm around his back and his head flopped onto a scented shoulder; a warm, spicy smell. His vertigo lessened and he pulled away, shivering. “Why do you smell like cookies?”

“Er, I have a weakness for gingernuts.” She reached into a pocket and drew out a small plastic bag fastened with a clip. It contained several cookies.

Rodney regarded the bag, his head still spinning slightly, his stomach unsure, his interest definitely piqued. “Gingersnaps.”

“Gingernuts.”

“Snaps.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. You can have one, if you like. If you get back into bed.”

“No deal.” He began to weave an unsteady path toward the corridor, listing his priorities in his fuzzy mind: clothes, so that he didn’t have to traipse around looking like a cross between an escaped convict and Miss Havisham; some kind of food that wouldn’t try to vacate his queasy premises (gingersnaps would fit the bill nicely) and then his lab, to find incriminating evidence. His growing shivers awoke the pain in his sides and he staggered.

“Here. Lean on me.”

The spicy scent enfolded him, a thin, strong arm around his waist and another under his elbow.

“Thanks.”

oOo

“Colonel!”

John looked up from the remains of his blue jello. Woolsey, looking uncharacteristically flustered, sat down opposite him. An uncomfortable prickle of apprehension shivered down John’s spine. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing. But…” He waved a paper print-out. “I’ve had a personal message in the weekly databurst from Atlantis. “From Professor Clarke.”

“The Brit that hates McKay? What’s he done to her?”

Woolsey shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. At least, I don’t think so. Look.”

John took the proffered sheet of paper and read aloud, “...serious concerns about transparency of procedures... do not believe audit will reach any useful conclusions... “ He shrugged. “Sounds like she’s developed a conscience.”

“But, look.” Woolsey pointed to the end of the message.

“A space invader. Rodney’s tag. Something tells me that little guy didn't get there by accident.” The prickle of apprehension developed into a stomach-churning unease. “I need to get back to Atlantis”

“Neither of us can leave yet. Not just on a vague suspicion and a random pixelated icon.”

“It’s not random.”

“No.” Woolsey looked at his watch. “I’m due back in the meeting. Speak to Rodney.”

“I can’t just ask them to dial up Atlantis to say ‘hey’!”

“No, but luckily there’s a supply order ready to go. I, er… may have overstressed its urgency so that we could keep the lines of communication open.”

“Good move.”

John’s twitching Spidey sense took him straight to the control room. The faces of the technicians were uplit by silvery light which flickered and went out as he reached the top of the steps.

“Was that Atlantis?”

Sergeant Harriman turned round. “No, sir. That was SG-11’s check-in. We’ve got SG-8 scheduled to leave in ten minutes and then we can dial up Atlantis.”

John paced as he waited, impatiently watching the Gate team assembling below and slowly trooping out to explore the Milky Way. Then the Gate began to spin once more as Harriman dialled Atlantis. The spinning ring, the clouds of steam, and above all, Walter's dramatic announcement following each encoded chevron were highly theatrical.

"Eighth chevron encoded and locked!"

John sniggered, despite his worry. Harriman, unperturbed, merely spoke briefly to Atlantis control and then directed the staff below to begin sending items through the Gate.

"Can I…?"

"Go ahead, sir."

"Chuck, this is Colonel Sheppard. I need to speak to McKay."

“Uh, yes, sir, but I think he’s in the infirmary, so I’m not sure…”

“The infirmary? Why? Broke a nail?” John grinned at Walter.

“No, sir. He was captured and tortured on his mission to P5C-327.”

“What? _Tortured?_ ” It was all John could do to keep his boots firmly planted in the SGC control room, when, in his mind, they were already ringing on the metal ramp up to the open Gate.

A different voice floated out of the speakers. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Dr Garcia.”

“What the hell’s going on there, Garcia? How come you sent Rodney to that place, when I’d taken it off the schedule?”

“Because I saw no reason why it shouldn’t be fully explored.”

“But I said -”

“Yes, Major Lorne informed me of your ‘bad feeling’.”

“And I was right!”

“On this occasion.”

“Look, I want to speak to Rodney.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary. Patch me through, Chuck!”

“Colonel -”

“Either I speak to McKay or I’m coming through the Gate.”

“Very well.”

There was a pause. John’s fingers drummed against his thigh. Captured. Tortured. He couldn’t leave the place for five minutes without everything going to hell. “Chuck, what’s happening?”

“The infirmary staff told me he left, sir. I’ll try his earpiece.”

There was another pause, then a sharp familiar voice.

“Sheppard?”

“McKay, what -”

“Hold on… Okay, I’m secure my end.”

John’s shoulders itched slightly. Rodney might have encrypted his call, but here, the walls definitely had ears. He’d have to be careful.

“Rodney, are you okay? Chuck said you went to P5 whatever.”

“Yes. It didn’t go well.”

“I knew we couldn’t trust those guys. Traders, my ass!”

“They did have plenty of Ancient artifacts, like they said.”

“Yeah, and all they needed was you to complete the set. What did they do to you?”

“Oh, you know. The usual kind of thing. But, look, never mind that, I need you to check out some vacation destinations. For our little friend.”

 _The usual kind of thing_. “Not good enough, Rodney. Tell me what happened.”

“No. It doesn’t - It doesn’t matter. Can you just -” Rodney’s voice broke off. 

“McKay!”

“John, please. I’m sending you a list. Can you just check it out?” Even over the comm link, over the vast distance between galaxies, the pain and exhaustion came through. “Our friend’s desperate to get away.”

“Yeah. I heard that.”

“So, if you could just check out these destinations? See if they’re suitable, find out who runs the, er, resorts?”

This was all wrong. He should be there. “Gate’s open, McKay. I could come through if you need me.”

“No. Just…”

“Okay.” He glared at the open event horizon. “I’ll check them out.”

“Thanks. McKay out.”

The last case of supplies was pushed through and the event horizon fizzled out. One step would have taken him there, where he was needed. Now he wouldn’t even be able to pick out the whole galaxy from the chalk dust in the night sky.

What had happened to Rodney? John shuddered: torture. But he wasn’t in the infirmary, so it couldn’t be too bad.

“Encrypted communication for you, sir. Shall I put it on a stick?”

“Yeah, thanks Chuck.” He’d have to find an un-networked computer to download it onto. Hopefully Rodney’d set up the file so that his security code would unlock it. If someone was trying to send tagged files over the datastream he needed to find out where they were bound, see who was involved and bring them down. Except what he really needed to do was find someone this end he could trust and get them to do all that, while he went back to Atlantis.

“Is Landry up there?”

“Yes, sir. In his office.”

“Cool.”

John jogged up the stairs.

oOo

“What did the Colonel say? Rodney?”

He stared right through her for a moment and then focussed, touching his forehead with a shaking hand. “He’ll er....” He squeezed his eyes shut. “He’ll check out the e-mail destinations.” He stopped.

“Here. Have some water.”

Rodney picked up the glass and sipped, then shivered and drew the blanket tight around his shoulders. He’d fling it off again in a moment, she knew, together with his thick zip-up fleece. “I think we need to get you back to the infirmary.”

“No.” His voice suddenly strengthened. “And if they come looking, I’m not here. Sheppard’s doing his part, we need to find proof this end.” He began to tap furiously away at his laptop, his eyes totally focussed on the reams of code that flashed across the screen. The blanket fell away. Red spots of colour glowed high on his cheeks and he unzipped the fleece and gulped water. Suzanna got up and refilled his glass, then set it at his elbow, together with the little bag of gingernuts.

This, she realised, was Dr Rodney McKay in action; hot on the scent of a trail, fuelled by adrenaline and cookies, his jaw thrust forward, his nose twitching.

His brows crunched together. “This looks like -”

“Ah, Dr McKay! I knew the reports of your injuries must be greatly exaggerated.”

“Linnet,” Rodney acknowledged.

The academic strolled further into the room, the monitor-glow picking up the sheen in his pale grey suit. He glanced around, with a faint air of disdain. 

Rodney slowly closed his laptop. “What do you want?”

An unpleasant smile rose on the thin lips. “So abrupt! One would expect a more conciliatory tone from an employee whose reputation is in doubt.”

The Chief Science Officer of Atlantis rose slowly to his feet. Suzanna half expected him to lash out physically, so palpable was the rage emanating from his vibrating form along with the fever-heat. “Get out. Now.”

Dr Linnet threw up both hands in mock horror, his eyebrows raised in innocent curves. “Please! I am only here to ascertain your fitness to attend your personal appraisal. I see that you are able enough and therefore we will expect you within, shall we say, ten minutes?” He began moving toward the exit, his sneering gaze briefly passing over Suzanna. “You should attend also, Professor Clarke.”

He left and Rodney slumped down onto the stool.

“You shouldn’t go. You should be in the infirmary.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’ll go.” He flicked a weary hand at his laptop. “I just need to come up with some proof, then have a security detail sling them back through the Gate.”

“I’ll tell them to postpone it. You’re not well enough to deal with that pack of wolves.” She knew by the stubborn set of his jaw that she was wasting her time.

He raised his head as if it were a heavy weight, but regarded her steadily. “They’ve threatened me, they’ve put people in danger, they’ve attempted to steal untried, unresearched technology which could put Earth’s safety in jeopardy.” His cheeks were flushed fever-bright in his white face, but his voice was cold and hard. “I’ll deal with them.”


	4. Chapter 4

They were arrayed against him in an arc, with himself as the apex of the sector, and it seemed that Garcia had a theatrical, or possibly just a vindictive streak, which was revealed by his choice of meeting room. Several levels below the Gate, it had a long, curving window, which silhouetted the audit team, the bright daylight shining in Rodney’s eyes so that he couldn’t see the faces of his opponents.

He’d asked for a small table to be set in front of his solitary, exposed chair so that he could refer to notes on his laptop. Of course, he could have delayed the whole ridiculous charade on medical grounds. He could have insisted on using the usual, round-table meeting room on the Gate level. He could even have simply called a bunch of Marines, who would have been delighted to truss up the whole audit team like turkeys and throw them in the brig. Except Professor Clarke, of course; Suzanna, who he’d obviously won round through his innate charm, bravery and general super-powered genius awesomeness. Anyways, back to the matter in hand. He tapped one or two strategic keys and then gave the kangaroo court his full attention.

Garcia spoke. “Dr McKay, perhaps you could describe for us, in your own words, the nature of your role here on Atlantis, as you see it."

Rodney's head ached and the wounds on his ribs throbbed. He was cold and wished he'd hung onto the blanket, even though he already looked scruffy in his old orange fleece, when contrasted with the sharp suits and neatly combed hair opposite. These things were but minor irritations, however, when compared with the insulting inanity of Garcia's request. "Fascinating," he remarked, the word dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be! 'My role, as I see it, in my own words'? It's fascinating that you see the need to forbid me from describing it as someone else sees it, in their words, or as they see it in my words or as I see it in theirs." His head spun at his own facetiousness. "And the nature of my role? How long has it been? Six Earth years? Seriously, if I haven't pinned down the nature of my role by now, there's something wrong. Although, no, there'd be nothing wrong simply because there'd _be_ nothing. Or maybe a lot of Wraith and a smoking ruin. Maybe a smoking ruin where Earth used to be. Who knows? I'd be dead. You'd be dead. Nobody would care anymore.”

“This is hardly a helpful attitude, Dr McKay.” That was Beresford’s smugly condescending voice. Rodney squinted against the light, which had turned the man’s thinning hair into a white halo.

“Is there any coffee?” Rodney glanced at his laptop screen and tapped a flurry of keys, one-handed.

“Please answer the question.” Garcia was getting nicely pissed. Good.

Rodney gathered his straying thoughts. “Okay, then. My role, in, let’s not forget, my own words: to maintain the city, to aid my team in the scientific aspects of missions, to boldly go - No, that’s not right. Er... to acquire new technology and investigate said technology in order to adapt it, where possible, to our benefit.” He frowned and pulled at the collar of his fleece and the shirt beneath, which suddenly felt tight and stifling. Would anyone notice if he took them off? “That sounds a bit boring, doesn’t it?” he said absently. How would Sheppard put it? And why wasn’t he here? “Basically, it’s a save-ass, kick-ass kind of role. Hey, I should have that printed on a t-shirt. ‘When I’m not saving asses I kick them.’ Would that work? Sheppard? Oh. No, he’s gone to, er, the supermarket for cookies. No, to Earth. For cookies.” 

“Rodney, are you alright? Do you need to stop?”

“Suzanna? Suzanna banana, got any cookies? I’m feeling a bit weird.” His body didn’t want to hold itself up anymore. Rodney leant forward and rested his head in his hands.

“Dr Garcia, I think we should call a medical team.”

“Nonsense! Dr McKay is merely trying to delay the proceedings.”

“Dr McKay is injured and sick and should be in the infirmary.”

“There was no jello in the infirmary. There should be jello and nobody brought me any.” This seemed unbearably sad. Tears sprang to his eyes. “No jello,” he repeated.

“The man’s clearly lost his mind!” said Dr Linnet. “He should be removed and I should be appointed at once.”

“Jennifer would have brought me jello, but she’s sick.”

“You?” Suzanna sounded pissed about something. Maybe she hadn’t got any jello either.

“Sheppard would have brought me jello, but he’s on Earth.”

“I believe I would be well-qualified for the position.”

“Teyla would have brought me jello. And maybe she would’ve sung me a song. She’s nice.”

“If Dr McKay is ousted from Atlantis it will be an absolute travesty of justice, not to mention a huge risk to our personnel and to the City and to Earth.” 

Wow. He’d really won her over. She was actually on her feet. “Go, Suzie!” But he’d missed somebody. “Ronon would have brought me jello, but he would have eaten it on the way.”

“Oh, come on, he’s just one man! You can’t say he’s solely responsible for the survival of the expedition!”

“One super-powered, genius-brained, last-minute-save, miraculous under pressure-"

"Dr McKay, pull yourself together!"

"I am together, mostly." A small, innocent ping sounded from his laptop. He checked the screen, but it swirled and danced before his eyes. He blinked hard and leant forward so that his nose tingled with static. Dr Linnet was screeching for his immediate dismissal. Suzanna was defending him, but hers was a lone voice in the wilderness. The screen resolved itself into a clear stream of text. "Hmm." 

Rodney sagged back into his seat. He'd had enough. He wanted everyone to leave him alone and to be somewhere dark and warm and cool and safe. He clenched his fists to try to stop the shivers that were waking the fire in his ribs and blinked the room back into focus once more. "Th- that's a cool device you've got there, Linnet. What is that, the latest, top-of-the-range super-fast shiny thing?"

Dr Linnet glared. “I fail to see what -”

"No! You wanted to hear me defend myself, so shut up and listen.” The black silhouettes wavered and grew. Were their eyes glowing? Because that would be really worrying. “One of you is a thief. Or maybe more than one.”

“This is outrageous!”

“Dr McKay, that is a very dangerous accusation, which I suggest you retract immediately.” Dr Garcia’s voice was like a booming foghorn.

“I thought you wanted to know about my job, Garcia?” Rodney got slowly to his feet, leaning on the table. “Because this is what I do.” He pointed to the laptop and then slowly met each of the glowing, distorted, fever-red eyes before him. “Haven’t you realised yet? Any of you, apart from Professor Clarke?” He stood, swaying and moved painfully round the table to confront the enemy, spreading out his arms to encompass the city. “This is _my_ territory; _mine_ to protect and defend, and anyone who thinks they can delve into my systems unheeded and unchecked is in for a world of pain.”

“These are the ravings of a lunatic, Dr Garcia. You should have him restrained.”

“Proof!” Rodney shouted. “Right there! The signature of a personal device, logged by my system. Whose is it? My money’s on you, Linnet!”

oOo

Suzanna had felt the shift in mood; the shift from derision to danger, from complacence to threat. As soon as Rodney had spoken the word ‘thief’ it had changed, and she stopped watching the scientist’s heroic attempt to ignore his increasingly obvious pain and weakness, and turned her eyes to the rest of the audit team. Dr Linnet had shot to his feet as he demanded Rodney’s restraint, and at Rodney’s further shout he hurtled round the end of the curving table. Suzanna thrust back her chair and mirrored his movement, but was too late to stop him pushing Rodney out of the way, pulling the laptop off the table and throwing it to the ground. Garcia called out to him to stop, but was ignored and he turned to Rodney.

Suzanna swiftly inserted herself between the enraged academic and his victim, but was swept aside by a firm shove which sent her crashing into the table. There was a sharp crack, a heavy fall and she turned to see Dr Linnet standing over a crumpled form, his fist raised to strike again.

“No!” She leapt up and grabbed his arm and hung on.

“Get off, you stupid old bat!”

“No! Leave him alone! He’s suffered enough!”

She clung on, despite his other fist beating at her arms, and brought her heel down hard on his instep. He yelled and tried the same move on her, and as she danced back out of range she was forced to release his arm. Linnet drew back his foot and kicked out, eliciting a cry of pain from Rodney. Suzanna felt a deep, burning rage. She launched herself forward, caught the attacker off balance and bowled him completely over. Then, avoiding his flailing limbs, she squirmed around until she sat astride his lower back, gripped his hair and ground his face into the floor.

“What the hell is going on?”

The scene froze. Dr Linnet whimpered. 

Colonel Sheppard stood on the threshold, his black brows drawn down, his mouth a tight line. The line flickered slightly as his gaze passed over Suzanna, but his face hardened into cold fury as his eyes settled on the fallen Dr McKay.

oOo

“Med team to meeting room three.” John could barely force the words out through his rage-tight jaw. He crouched down beside Rodney, and squeezed his shoulder, feeling heat burning even through his clothes. Another whimper came from the suppressed Dr Linnet.

"Stackhouse, take over from Professor Clarke."

"What shall I do with him, sir?"

"Take him to the brig."

"That's totally unacceptable, Colonel! You have no jurisdiction over my team."

John glared. "Don't talk to me about jurisdiction, Garcia. This man attacked Dr McKay." Rodney remained curled into a ball, his face squeezed tight with pain. John turned to the rest of the security detail. "Take the whole audit team to the brig. Professor Clarke excepted." John looked at Rodney and took his sharp nod as confirmation.

"That's outrageous!" Dr Garcia blustered. "You have no right! I am in command here!"

"Not any more. McKay's been assaulted and the security of the city's been compromised. That puts me in charge." Garcia stepped backward as one of the Marines approached him. "Cuff him if he resists, lieutenant."

"Yes, sir!" The Marine responded eagerly.

The academics departed, chastened or threatened into silence or venomous grumbling. Dr Linnet limped, one side of his face red from contact with the floor.

"Not all of them in on it." Rodney's words were forced out between shuddering breaths.

"No, but we're better off with the whole pack behind bars until we've got to the bottom of this." There was blood seeping between the fingers pressed tight to Rodney's ribs. "Geez, McKay, what’ve you done to yourself?"

"Can you t-truss them up like t- turkeys for Th- Thanksgiving?" His shivering increased, teeth chattering around soft moans.

"Whatever you want, Rodney. Where the hell's that med team?" John hauled the limp scientist into his arms as Dr Clarke lowered herself stiffly to the floor beside him.

oOo

Rodney had felt himself gathered up and held against a warm, cloth-covered surface. He pressed his face into the familiar uniform-black and inhaled the mix of sweat, gun oil and Aqua Velva that spelled John. The scents of leather and bantos oil were missing, but for now it was enough for his worn-down, fever-wracked body to know that he could give up the fight and just let everything slide; if any asses needed kicking (or saving), Sheppard would get the job done.

"I never shoulda left. Shoulda told the damn IOA to stuff their stupid audit."

“Stupid IOA,” echoed Rodney.

The arms tightened around him, and then there was more bustle and a welcome voice. “Oh, Rodney, what’s happened to you?”

“Carson?”

“We’ll soon have you sorted out.” Carson’s voice continued in comfortingly familiar medical briskness and Rodney felt himself lifted onto a gurney. He cried out as his body was straightened, feeling the knife scraping across his ribs once more, but then there was a sting in his shoulder and he was rolled away into spinning darkness.

oOo

The papery scrape of John’s page was loud in the drowsy afternoon stillness of the infirmary. He glanced up from the colourful superhero adventures to watch his own team of superheroes: Teyla, bent over some repair work on one of Torren’s tiny shirts; Ronon, his feet on the end of the bed, eyes closed, hands linked across his stomach; and Rodney, asleep, hollow-eyed and pale, a cannula in the back of one hand. Anger and guilt once again simmered in John’s stomach.

“John.”

Teyla’s soft murmur claimed his gaze. She didn’t need to say anything else aloud. _He is safe now. Do not blame yourself._

“Yeah.” He responded to her unspoken words.

Ronon’s eyes flicked open, then closed again, a threat assessed and dismissed. John looked over his shoulder to see Professor Clarke hesitating on the threshold. He stood, careful not to scrape his chair legs, and followed her as she backed into the corridor.

“You could’ve come in,” he said.

“I didn’t want to wake him. Or any of the other patients. How is he?”

John shrugged. “He had a rough night, but he’ll be okay.”

The academic nodded, turning her head away. “I feel ashamed,” she said.

John waited.

“Ashamed to be part of that… that lynch mob.”

“You weren’t. You helped.”

She snorted. “Eventually. I’d judged and convicted Rodney before I even got here.”

“You helped,” John said firmly, familiar with the guilt and what-ifs of life. “Anyways, you got the upper hand on that Linnet guy.”

She laughed and shrugged. “Ah, well, it brought back the days of my youth.”

John frowned. “You were into martial arts?”

“Oh, no.” Professor Clarke took a small bag from her pocket, undid its neat little clip and held it out. “Gingernut?”

“Thanks.”

“No,” she continued. “My impromptu wrestling skills are a legacy of my school days.”

John, crunching his cookie, raised his brows in question.

“I was lucky enough to attend a rather fine boarding school, and we maintained a state of continuous warfare with the girls from the convent school on the other side of the town.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She sighed, reminiscently. “The dear old alma mater turned out some rather brilliant Latin scholars.”

John felt he was losing the thread of the conversation.

“The battle tactics of Julius Caesar in the original Latin; translated, assimilated and put into practice. Many-a-time we outflanked and routed the St Mary’s girls, and then home in time to toast crumpets round the common room fire. Ah, happy days!”

John flicked crumbs off his fingers. “Maybe you should give a talk to the Marines.”

“Oh, well, I’ll have to be going soon...“

Teyla’s lowered voice alternating with a croaking groan brought John back to Rodney’s bedside. He was awake and Teyla was helping him to drink some water.

“How’re you feeling, Buddy?”

Rodney groaned again and his sunken, red-rimmed eyes passed round the circle of his team and Professor Clarke. “Am I dying? I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“You’re not dying, Rodney.” Carson approached and checked Rodney’s chart. “You’re temperature’s down. You’re going to be fine.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

“Aye, well, you’ll feel a bit rough for a while. It hit you pretty hard.” Carson hooked the chart back on the end of the bed. “And no wonder. You were exhausted to begin with and then to be tortured on top of that...” He shook his head. “I hope things are going back to normal round here, Colonel? Now that you and Mr Woolsey are back.”

“What happened?” Rodney asked. “To Garcia and Linnet and the others?”

“You don’t need to worry about that now, Rodney. You need to rest.” Carson began to make ushering movements toward the door.

“I am worrying about it,” said Rodney. “Tell me!” 

“Dialled Earth and shoved ‘em back through the Gate,” said John with satisfaction.

“Did you search them first?” He closed his eyes and rubbed between his brows. “They could’ve had stuff on them. Did you confiscate their devices?”

“Don’t panic, McKay. They were clean by the time we’d finished with them. And Zelenka’s dug up all the dirt and sent it to the SGC.”

“So who…?”

“Drs Garcia and Linnet were in it up to their scrawny necks,” Professor Clarke said, bitterly. “And Professor Beresford had some rather incriminating items amongst his papers. Drs Defranca and Williams appeared to be innocent, of stealing technology at least.”

“Yeah, what did you do to upset _them_ , McKay?”

“Colonel, it’s time Rodney was resting.”

“Oh, I beat Williams to a research grant once and, er, might have indulged in a little triumph.”

“And Defranca?”

“Well, that really wasn’t my fault. I’m just not very good at interpreting social cues sometimes.”

“Right, enough’s enough,” Carson insisted. “Out you go, all of you! Shoo!”

John found himself hustled out of the infirmary, along with the rest of his team and the British professor.

“They won’t get away with it, will they?” Professor Clarke fidgeted, one hand in her pocket. “It won’t all be hushed-up?”

“No. The IOA’s pretty embarrassed. They’re gonna have a proper crackdown. Landry said it was like a dam bursting; one minute the place was full of suits, the next they’d all drained away, trailing apologies.”

“Their tails between their legs? To mix a metaphor.”

“Yeah, sure.” John hesitated. “It’s okay if you want to stick around for a bit, though. I mean, you and McKay seemed to get on.”

“Once I’d seen the error of my ways.”

He smiled.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Perhaps I could help?”

“Maybe. Talk to Zelenka.” 

Professor Clarke withdrew her hand from her pocket. “Another gingernut?”

“Thanks.”

oOo

He wanted to be grumpy and maybe yell at someone, but he didn’t have the energy. He wanted to work, but he couldn’t concentrate and anyway, Carson wouldn’t let him. He wanted to eat but wasn’t hungry, wanted some fresh air, but didn’t like the feel of it against his skin, and he definitely wanted to be around his friends, except for the unfortunate fact that he wanted to be alone.

“McKay.”

“What?”

“D’you wanna go back in?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

John narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. “I could move your chair half in, half out. Would that help?”

“No.”

Rodney turned his head to one side, away from the bright sunlight and tried to relax on the reclining, cushion-piled chair, which should have been luxuriously comfortable but was just stupid like everything else.

“I believe Rodney is not quite well enough to enjoy anything but not yet tired enough to sleep,” commented Teyla. Torren, sitting on her lap, nodded wisely in agreement.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Rodney snarkily. It was actually comforting to hear his feelings validated, but he couldn’t seem to make his words or his tone match his gratitude.

“You are welcome, Rodney,” said Teyla, understanding nonetheless.

Suddenly there was a lump in his throat and he felt like he needed to cry, but instead he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to sleep. John, Teyla, Ronon and Suzanna had arranged the reclining chair on the balcony, and a table full of snacks and thermos flasks of various hot drinks, and the cushions and the blankets, not to mention rearranging their work schedules, just to be with him. And not only that, but they cheerfully and calmly put up with and actually seemed to understand his brittle mood. And then there were all the gifts and cards from his staff, none of which he’d permitted into his presence, not even Radek or Miko. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Rodney? Are you okay? Shall I call Carson?”

He opened his eyes to find John leaning over him, his face full of genuine concern.

“Why is it that just because I feel the need to apologise, you immediately jump to the conclusion that I’ve had a relapse?”

John’s face relaxed. “Don’t panic, guys, he’s fine!”

“And,” Rodney wriggled up the chair into a more upright position, the cuts on his ribs healed enough to put up with such treatment, “you seem to equate any grumpy, snarky or otherwise bad-tempered comments on my part with ‘fineness’!”

John sat down. And shrugged, which was just so typical. His frown and lip-chewing led to speech, which wasn’t. “I guess it’s like when you have a dog,” he began.

Ronon, sitting cross-legged on the balcony floor, looked up from his knife-sharpening, obviously keen to hear his team-leader’s philosophy.

“If it’s nose is dry, you know it’s sick. If it’s wet, you know it’s probably okay.”

Suzanna, who had been examining one of Ronon’s knives, handed it back to its owner and reached into her pocket.

“So, with you,” continued John, “if you’re nice and saying sorry for stuff, well, then there’s gotta be something that needs fixing. Whereas…” (He accepted the bag of cookies from Suzanna) “if you’re turning back into a bossy, arrogant, pain in the ass -”

“Oh, so when you hate me I’m healthy? That’s it, is it?”

John shuffled round in his chair, to face Rodney directly. “No,” he said. “I was gonna say, that when you’re showing signs of getting back to the bossy, arrogant, pain-in-the-ass, super-powered, miracle-fixing, life-saving genius, or, in other words, the good friend and teammate that we know and love -”

Rodney felt his eyes tearing again.

“That’s when we know you’re on the mend.”

“Oh.”

John held out his hand. “Gingernut?”

Rodney looked at the little bag of cookies. “Snap,” he contradicted, and took one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I appreciate kudos very much and would love to hear from you if you have time to comment! Grateful thanks also to Eos1969 for her usual help and encouragement. 
> 
> I may be a bit quiet for the next few weeks, (apart from the final chapter of 'Up one way and down the other' on Friday) because I'm taking part in 'Nanowrimo', where you try to write fifty thousand words in a month. But possibly there'll be a bumper harvest in December when I polish it all up and post it. We'll see...


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